


Wager

by Chelidona (Hobbity)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Fluff, M/M, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 14:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12234966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hobbity/pseuds/Chelidona
Summary: Set during "The Chamber of Secrets." Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint have a bet going. Of course, they both win.





	Wager

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in 2003. 2003. In German. I watched the first two HP movies with my housemates yesterday and was reminded of this story, so I translated it (and improved it a little bit, I hope).

Harry had once said he was convinced, Flint’s ancestry included trolls.

Oliver had laughed, along with the rest of the team. It could not be denied that Flint was not exactly matching any beauty ideals.

Oliver sighed as he changed his clothes after the match against Slytherin.

It did not matter if Flint was conventionally handsome or not. Because, whenever he saw Flint, bludgers attacked his insides and he found it hard to breath. 

The handshake before the match always made him sweat way more than any other aspect of the game. Oliver looked at his hand pensively. Even after gripping the broomstick for an entire game, he still felt he could feel Flint’s hand.

Flint had certainly squeezed it hard enough, as if he hoped to break Oliver’s hands even before the match started.

 

Oliver suddenly realized that he was the last one in the lockers. He needed to hurry and join the rest of the team in the infirmary. They needed to cheer up their seeker. Nobody had ever removed any of Oliver’s bones, but he figured that it was not very pleasant. Poor Harry.

 

***

 

After matches between Slytherin and Gryffindor, Snape always paired Flint with Oliver in potions. It used to be to let Flint gloat a bit more after their victory. Now, it was presumably to punish Flint for having let Gryffindor win.

It was always a recipe for a failed potion. Oliver and Flint were not any good at potions in the first place, and their animosity made any sort of cooperation impossible. Of course, Snape would blame him.

As they were chopping newt tails and dried toads, Flint glared at Oliver after a particularly vicious chop that had the newt tail tumble tot he floor.

“I hope you don’t think you’ve already won the cup just because of your lucky victory, Wood.”

“It was a bit of luck that Slytherin has a seeker who can’t see the snitch right in front of his eyes,” Oliver agreed.

He suppressed a grin when he noticed Flint’s hands balling up into fists. Not even a Slytherin would dare assaulting anyone in Snape’s class. Flint had to contact herself with glaring and hissing “You’re going to regret this.”

Oliver grinned at him. “I bet you that Gryffindor will win the housecup.”

Flint blinked, then he grinned back, baring his crooked teeth.

“What does the winner get?”

“Um …” Oliver had not thought that far. He gulped when he noticed Flint frowning, a sign that the Slytherin captain was thinking. That was hardly ever good.

But then Flint’s expression shifted. “I don’t know. Public humiliation might get us into too much trouble.”

Both of them were not exactly good student and good not risk drawing the wrath of teacher onto themselves. Oliver dared to breath out, but his heart sank when Marcus smirked.

“I’ve got it. The loser will be the winner’s personal slave for a day – Sunday, obviously, no school hours.”

Caught up in fantasies of what he would do with Marcus if he’d be his slave, Oliver barely managed to croak okay.

Any further discussion was stopped by Snape coming to check on their non-existent progress.

 

***

 

The day of the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match arrived. Gryffindor was the clear favourite and Oliver was almost sure that he’d win the bet. The sullen looks Flint had thrown him in history of magic the day before had cheered Marcus up a good deal.

When they were flying their warm up rounds, Oliver made sure to pass just in front of Flint and his friends. They had come to cheer on Hufflepuff – or rather, to jeer at Gryffindor.

And then Professor McGonagall came onto the field and announced that the match was cancelled.

.

Oliver was besides himself. A Quidditch match could not be just cancelled. That did not happen.

 

His teammates avoided him for the rest of the day, as he was a cloud of misery. It was not only that he did not get to play Quidditch. Although that was a large part of it.

No. He had also looked forward to have Marcus as his personal slave. He had cherished that little bit of connection he had with the boy he had had a crush on for such a long time. They had a bet going, a bet that would give them some alone time.

Or not. Because the teachers had decided that Quidditch would be cancelled, as if the Dark Lord was reigning again.

 

***

 

Whenever Oliver and Marcus met, they glared at each other. This was their usual behaviour, and nobody noticed that there was more heat to it now.

Oliver drew very surprised looks from his classmates, when some time after the cancelled match, Flint stopped him after class and demanded that they talk.

They walked across the yard in silence, until they found a silent corner, free from any other students or ghosts.

Flint scratched his head.

“About the bet,” he began, haltingly. Oliver patiently waited for the next bit of the sentence, which took some time for Flint to compose in his head. “What are we going to do if there really is no Quidditch anymore this year?”

“Apart from kill ourselves, you mean?” Oliver sighed, the Quidditch withdrawal began to wear his nerves down.

Marcus grinned – no, he smiled! Oliver was too surprised to react. Marcus finally replied.

“Yes, should we just do it next year, or have a private Quidditch duel?”

A private Quidditch duel? That was practically a date! Oliver blinked. Several times. His heart was hammering furiously in his chest. It took some time until his vocal cords cooperated.

“A private duel. We can still have the bet again next year.”

 

***

 

One of the few spells Marcus had managed were spells to deter people. And on the very next evening, anyone approaching the Quidditch field would feel the sudden urge to go to the library to find out more about the chamber of secrets.

Oliver was very proud of that idea. Given the situation at school, not even the cleverest witch or wizard would suspect they had the urge due to a spell.

Marcus and him had agreed on the term of this duel with surprising efficiency. Marcus would get 19 attempts to score a goal through one of the hoops. Oliver had to start out further away from the goals than he usually would. If Marcus scored 10 goals, he’d win.

Marcus scored with his first attempt, but Oliver kept the next two. The fourth attempt was a goal again.

Finally, Oliver had held 9, and Marcus had scored nine times.

It was all or nothing. Oliver had to take a deep breath.

Marcus shot was hard, he had barely exerted itself. But Oliver could easily stop it and shot it back straight at Marcus face.

The glare that Marcus shot his way would have had a weaker student fly off screaming. But Oliver was too caught up in the rush of victory to register it much.

He winked at Marcus. “It’s Sunday tomorrow, see you then.”

 

***

 

Oliver slept little during the night.

Now that the day had finally come, he had to face reality. His fantasies were just that. Fantasies.

First of all, he would not sexually assault anyone, not matter the circumstances. Secondly, Marcus was physically stronger than him, so he would not even be able to force him to a kiss. 

He would have to come up with something more harmless, yet still good enough to at least fuel his daydreams a little.

 

*

 

“You want me to do WHAT?”

They were in a little chamber in the astronomy tower, far away from ghosts and chatty pictures. Oliver had to gulp when he noticed the shock in Marcus’ face. Okay, so he had gone too far, but he still had to try.

“I want you to give me a massage. My muscles are aching a little after yesterday.”

“I’ve never done anything like that,” Marcus admitted, staring at his huge hands.

A laugh escaped Oliver, which died in his throat when he suddenly found himself shoved against the wall.

“Don’t mock me,” Marcus hissed.

Oliver did his best “I am so sorry face.” “Alright, alright, calm down Just try it. I keep my shirt one, don’t worry.”

Marcus stared at him, before he nodded slowly and released him again.

 

They conjured up a few cushions, and Oliver laid down on the floor, getting as comfortable as possible. He could only hope that Marcus would not take the opportunity to break his spine.

He did not, but he really had no idea what a massage even was, that much was clear. Still, Marcus’ hands were on his body, and that was all Marcus was really interested him.

And then they suddenly weren’t.

“I’ve got no idea what I’m doing,” Marcus growled.

Oliver sighed. “Look, I’ll massage you first, so you’ll know what to do.”

As soon as this suggestion had escaped him, he wished there was a spell to undo words.

Marcus was supposed to be his slave for the day. And just gaped now.

“You want to massage my back?”

“Just to show you what to do.

Marcus seemed to consider this for a long moment, in which Oliver’s heart slowly sank. But then he shoved Oliver off the cushions and made himself comfortable.

Oliver took a deep breath and tried to steady his shaking hands, as he contemplated the form stretched out next to him. He needed to get a grip on himself.

Marcus’ shirt was thin, and Oliver enjoyed the feeling of Marcus’ body heat as he massaged the very tense muscles.

Forgetting the time, the worked silently on Marcus’ back A soft moan jolted him back into reality, and he took his hand off.

Marcus turned his face to look up at Oliver, looking more relaxed and content than Marcus had ever seen him.

“That was good.” Then he frowned. “Wasn’t I supposed to be your slave?”

Oliver felt the blood rush to his face. “You are. You’ve got to massage me now.”

 

*

 

The lesson had been well worth it. Marcus’s hands were still occasionally clumsy, but he worked steadily and Oliver felt as if he was melting into the soft ground. 

He was drifting away into dreamland, when Marcus’ voice brought him back again.

“You feel very relaxed now.”

Oliver had to agree, and he sat up gingerly.

“So what’s next?” Marcus asked, and it was Oliver’s turn to gape.

“Next?”

“Yeah? Sunday is not over, is it?”

“I suppose not.”

“Don’t tell me you did not spend weeks picturing this?”

“I might have.”

“So?”

Instead of answering, Marcus blushed He could not remember his face ever feeling so hot. He hastily stood up and Marcus followed suit.

When he did not answer, Marcus scowled. “So? What is it?”

“You’d kill me,” Oliver confessed. Marcus tilted his head, contemplating this.

“Tell me,” he said then. “I promise I won’t kill you.”

Oliver raised his eyebrows. “The promise of a Slytherin famous for committing fouls?”

Marcus gritted his teeth audibly. “For a Gryffindor, you’ve got remarkably little spine.”

Oliver had all the impulsiveness of a typical Gryffindor though. He took a bold step forward and pressed his lips against Marcus.

And then reality and fantasy merged, when he felt himself drawn in a rough embrace. Marcus was almost crushing his ribcage, but that did not matter because he was also kissing him back, awkwardly, their teeth clashing, and with too much tongue, but it was Marcus, and this was just how he had always known Marcus would kiss.

Even the most intoxicating first kiss had to end eventually. Very, very reluctantly on both sides.

They kept holding each other, but a certain wariness crept Marcus eyes as they looked at each other and Oliver felt insecure himself.

But he did his best to smile.

Marcus shook his head slightly, mirroring Oliver’s smile.

“It had to be you.”

Oliver let his hand glide down to Marcus’ waist.

“I could say the same. I had to fall for the Slytherin captain.”

The shy smile on Marcus’ rough face was Oliver’s undoing and he pressed another kiss on Marcus’ lips, hands gliding down even further.

Their makeout session was awkward, it was all too obvious that neither of them had any experience, but Oliver found that here, when they were alone, both of them were not too proud to giggle when a kiss missed the target or when Marcus accidentally bashed his forehead against Marcus chin.

By unspoken agreement, they left their clothes on.

Finally Marcus placed a surprisingly gentle kiss on Oliver’s nose.

“This was all you fantasized about?”

“Um ….” He was really blushing quite a lot today.

Marcus chuckled, but then he suddenly frowned again.

“Just to make that clear - I am not going to be your slave or anything, whatever you imagined.”

“No, no!” Oliver only had the vaguest idea that there might be some people who roleplayed like that.

“Good.” Marcus was thinking again, and this time Oliver did not resist the temptation to kiss those lines on Marcus’ broad forehead.

“I like you,” Marcus announced finally. “So, I want to do more with you.”

“Me too.” Oliver smiled. “But not today, please. I just … I just want to enjoy being here with you.”

“We can do that.”

And it was wonderful, just laying on the soft cushions and exchanging soft kisses, which became easier and easier. 

Oliver explored the short, rough hair on Marcus head and found that the tough, violent Slytherin captain was almost purring like a kitten when his scalp was scratched.

When it was getting close to dinner time, Oliver’s mood sobered.

“If anyone finds out, I’ll be thrown from the Quidditch team.”

“Me too.” Marcus sat up. “So what do we do? Do you not want to see me again?”

Oliver dared to punch his shoulder. “Don’t talk rubbish, of course I do. We just need to be quiet about it, and meet like this. It can’t be hard to keep this a secret, it’s not like anyone will suspect.”

Marcus nodded slowly. “No, we just keep not talking outside, right?”

“Right. And we’ll meet here every Sunday.”

Marcus suddenly smiled, as he always did when he had one of his few brilliant ideas. 

“And if there are rumours, I’ll tell everyone that Draco was so terrible because he’s got a giant crush on Potter. That will silence all other rumours.”

Oliver laughed. “Oh yes, that would do it.”

He sat up too, to kiss Marcus again. There was still some time before they had to sneak down again and get dinner.


End file.
